


One of Those Weeks

by PracticallyIJ



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Fluff and Angst, I wasn't high when I came up with this, Weird Shit, but so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PracticallyIJ/pseuds/PracticallyIJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Jokers have some vacation time, and have elected to all split off and do their own thing away from each other. A couple of days in, Q realises something's not right with Sal and goes to his house to check up on him, and that's only the beginning of the weirdest week of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Those Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So the hiatus is tentatively over, now that all the weird fanfiction stuff appears to have died down a little. So here is the last fic I wrote before I stopped uploading/writing. It's a weird one, definitely quite left field compared to my usual stuff, so I hope you guys like it!  
> Rated M for language.

It was one of those weeks, which, in years to come, would be fondly remembered as 'SalGate'. The Tenderloins were on a two-week vacation and hadn't been working, and for those first few days they’d all been doing their own thing with an unusual lack of contact between them.

It was Q, a couple of days after the last time they were on set, who finally noticed something wasn't right. He had plans with Sal, and when he tried to get hold of him that morning, there was no answer on his cell. Weird, since he usually picked up within two or three rings. Was he mad? Had Q done something wrong? He left a couple of messages and waited an hour or so. Then he phoned Murr.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“Murray, have you heard from Sal? He’s not answerin’ his phone or his texts.”

There was a short silence, then when the other man replied, he sounded a little confused. “Uh, nope. I kinda assumed you’d been with him.”

Q started to worry. “Huh. Okay. Well, call me if ya hear from him, alright?”

He said goodbye and ended the call, then tried Joe, who hadn't heard anything either. All he got there was an infuriatingly unhelpful “I thought you two boys were joined at the hip?”

_So... where the fuck is he then?_

He grabbed his keys quickly and headed to the car.

******

Pulling up outside Sal’s, Q saw immediately that something was off - it was just past midday and the curtains were still closed. “What the fuck?” he muttered to himself as he got out and walked up the driveway. He knocked on the front door and peered through the frosted glass, looking for movement. Nothing. He reasoned to himself that perhaps Sal was sick, and couldn't come to the door. He knew where the spare key was - if his friend hadn't moved it after they’d invaded his home. Should he use it and let himself in? Sal might be mad if he did, but it wasn't like he was gonna trash the place - he was just checking up on his best friend.

Making a snap decision, Q turned and reached for the spare where it was usually hidden… only to find that it wasn't there. _Fuck!_ “Okay, Quinn,” he said aloud, trying to work out what to do next, “you’re Sal. Where d’you hide your key so your asshole friends don't find it?” Attempting to put himself in Sal’s shoes, he dismissed the doormat and the flowerpot for being too obvious. Then he spotted something by the bottom left corner of the door. Kneeling, he prised an obviously loose brick from the wall and retrieved the spare key. “Aha! Not clever enough for me, Vulcano, ya sneaky bastard.”

Feeling a little smug, he got up and let himself in. The familiar scent of the other man’s house greeted him as he stepped into the hallway - it was a smell that was hard to describe. Clean, but with an intangible edge that was full of nothing quite concrete - just abstract concepts like _comfort_ and _home_ , and years of memories laid on top of each other like the pages of an old book. He breathed it in, focused on it, but it didn’t help calm his growing sense of unease. There was something different, an unsettling, thick quiet that told Q that nobody had been here for a couple of days. Raising his voice, he called out. “Sal? Are ya here, bud?”

No answer. Q headed up the stairs, straight for Sal’s bedroom. He was trying not to think the worst, trying his fucking _hardest_ to keep his head on straight and fight down this suffocating, terrifying panic, but God _,_ what if…? Hand on the doorknob, he took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. _It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay._ He opened the door. “...Sal?”

At first glance, the room was empty. Q didn’t know how to feel. Part of him felt relieved that it wasn’t the awful worst case scenario he’d been trying so hard not to imagine, but that didn’t explain where his best friend had disappeared to without a trace. He took a quick look to see if any of Sal’s clothes had gone, but he couldn’t see anything missing. The bed wasn’t made either, which was totally unlike his friend. Then - and it would have been comical if he hadn’t been so freaked out - Q did a double take at the bed, because curled up on Sal’s pillows, staring right at him with wide eyes, was a _cat_.

They stared each other down for a moment while Q tried to process what a cat of all animals was doing here of all places. Then it started meowing at him, sounding a little weak. Totally unable to resist, he stepped forward and scooped it up in his arms. It was black and fluffy, with the most beautiful green eyes. It stared up at him and meowed again, and Q was in love immediately. “Hey, honey,” he murmured, “how did you get in here? Y’know, the guy who lives here doesn’t like cats so he’d be really mad if he found out you were here.” He was rewarded with another meow, and then the cat - apparently male - settled down in his arms and quickly fell asleep. Q’s heart melted.

He proceeded to walk around the house, looking for Sal - or at least for clues as to where he’d gone. He talked to the sleeping feline as he wandered from room to room, feeling a little comforted by the warm bundle in his arms. “I wonder if _you_ know where my buddy went? He’s called Sal, and he’s the nicest guy I know. You’d love him, kitty.”

Eventually, it became obvious that there was no sign of Sal anywhere, or anything that pointed to where he might have gone. Q sat on the sofa in the living room, feeling confused and discouraged. He gazed down at the cat. He really did seem weak, and Q suddenly realised that he mustn’t have had any food or water for a while if nobody had been here. “You’re a little sweetheart, huh? You must be real hungry. C’mon, I’ll take ya home with me. You can meet Brooklyn, Chessie, and Benjamin.”

There was no use hanging around here any longer. He could worry just as easily at his own place.

******

As soon as he got in, Q gently set the sleepy cat down on the sofa, then went to fetch out the spare food bowl he kept for emergencies like this, and filled it with food. It wasn't that it happened a lot, him rescuing random animals off the streets and out of friends’ houses, but it was a regular enough occurrence that it was sensible to keep one, just in case. It was also regular enough that Sal teased him relentlessly whenever it happened. “What is it with you and havin’ to rescue _cats_?” he’d said on one memorable occasion, disgust in his tone, but a little smile on his face. “You can't help yourself around ‘em. Do we need to stage an intervention?”

“They’re just so little and helpless. I can’t help it.” He really couldn't. If any animal was in trouble, especially of the feline variety, he had to _do something._ He didn't know why.

Sal had looked at him, something like admiration on his face. “You’re way too kind, buddy. You put the rest of us to shame.” Then he’d pouted a little, his eyes mischievous. “Hey. D’ya like cats more than me?”

Q’s smile was a little regretful as he remembered the way the rest of that conversation had gone. Sal’s question - and expression - had caught him off guard for a reason that he couldn't put his finger on - it had seemed like an innocent enough thing to ask, after all - and while blushing hard, and once he’d gotten his mouth to work, he’d said no, of course not. And his best friend had looked oddly relieved. That conversation, though it had happened a while ago, played on his mind a lot - it had felt like Sal was asking him something other than what he was saying aloud. But Q had never been great at reading between the lines, and so he’d left it. He wondered now whether he should have asked the other man what he’d meant... but then, he thought, squashing down his regret, maybe some things were best left as they were.

Shaking off the memory, he headed back to the living room, and took in the sight of his newest, perhaps temporary addition. The poor thing seemed a little wrong footed and confused. He was full grown, definitely not a kitten, but he was meowing pitifully, almost frantically at Q again, and when he tried to jump off the sofa, he had none of the fluid grace he should have had - he ended up sort of landing in a clumsy pile on the floor. Q picked him up. “Oh, sweetie, are you okay?” He scratched him behind the ears, and to Q’s surprise, the cat headbutted his face in return. It usually took a while to gain a cat’s affection like that, especially one that might have been on the streets like this, which Q suspected he had - there was no collar for a start, and he seemed traumatised by something.

“D’you wanna go get some food, buddy?” The cat’s eyes almost seemed to light up at that, and he meowed, batting Q on the nose with a paw. Q laughed. He wanted to keep this little guy forever. “Okay, let’s go.”

A few minutes later, Q was scratching his head in confusion. To be quite honest, he’d expected the cat to eat the entire bowl of food and more besides - but he was just staring up at him, and if cats could look disgusted, he was certain this one would be right now. He’d taken one look and a cursory sniff at the food and turned his nose up at it. “Huh? What’s the matter? You gotta be hungry.”

Q was stumped, until he got out some leftover pizza for himself, and the apparently picky feline started basically yelling at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, bud, you can’t have people food. It’s not good for ya. Who’s been feedin’ ya that?” He suspected the cat had had previous owners who’d given him a taste for junk food. He squatted down and stroked him. “You gotta get used to this kinda food, honey.”

It was probably just Q being a weird lonely cat guy as usual, but it felt almost as though there was something different about this one - like it could almost understand what he was saying. As if to punctuate that thought, the cat turned to the bowl and sniffed it again, then gave it an experimental lick. A second later he retched and gazed almost accusingly at Q, who decided to give up for the time being. He’d eat when he wanted to. “Okay. We’ll just leave it there for when you want it, alright? Besides, I guess it’s time you met your new friends, huh?”

******

His other three cats were asleep on his bed, but as he walked into his bedroom, they woke up and padded over to greet him. “Hey, guys! I got someone for you to meet.” He put him down, hoping that they’d get along. Chessie, Brooklyn and Benjamin sniffed at him, apparently intrigued, but the new cat instantly backed up against Q, arching his back and hissing. Then he took off, dodging around the other three, and disappeared under the bed. “Ah, shit.” Q got on his hands and knees to look. As he got used to the dark underneath his bed, he spotted a pair of wide green eyes. “Hey, hey. Sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m sorry. C’mere.” Q figured that he’d been attacked at some point, and it had left him afraid of other cats. “I’ve got you, bud.” Slowly, the terrified cat crawled out, straight into Q’s arms. He carefully got upright, trying to work out what to do. Traumatised as this poor little guy was, he didn’t want to leave him alone. He felt guilty about it, but he was gonna have to put the other three in the spare room for now, so that he could keep an eye on him. It was too late to go to a vet now, so he’d have to go in the morning.

Suddenly exhausted from what had been a really weird, and quite frankly, pretty terrible fucking day, he put the cat down on his bed, and shooed the others into his spare room, then moved their food, water, beds and litter trays in there and closed the door. Then, gathering the still recovering feline into his arms, he headed downstairs, sat on the sofa, and put the TV on. He wasn’t really paying attention to whatever was on, because now that he had time to think, the question of where Sal was came to the forefront of his mind. “Where did he go, kitty?” he mumbled to the fluffy bundle on his lap, who started meowing at him. “He’s not the kinda guy that just _disappears_. He’d _tell_ me if he was goin’ somewhere. Wouldn’t he? Oh God, I hope he’s okay.” The cat kept meowing. “We had plans today, kitty. We were gonna go see a movie.” He sighed, feeling helpless, and dragged his hands across his face. “Okay. If he hasn’t turned up by tomorrow we’ll call the cops and report it. Deal?”

The cat finally fell silent, and after a moment, climbed up to lie on Q’s chest, rubbing their faces together. Q felt comforted, and oddly emotional. “Y’know,” he murmured, “I should give you a name. What should I call ya, bud?” He thought for a moment, and then huffed out a little laugh. “Funny. You kinda remind me a little of Sal. He doesn’t like my cats either, and he’s weird about food too. Maybe you guys would actually get along. Although he’s not as clumsy as you. He’s kinda graceful… and you should see his moves. Don’t tell anyone, but I fuckin’ _love_ watchin’ that guy dance.”

The cat was purring, probably in response to Q’s voice. It was a soothing noise. “I can’t call you Sal, though. It’s… it’s too weird. How about… Edward? Eddie?” That way, Q reasoned, he’d still be named after Sal, but without the weirdness of referring to a cat with his best friend’s first name. The newly christened Eddie seemed to approve, at least. Still purring, he bumped his head against Q’s chin and meowed. Then he went to sleep where he was, and Q, totally drained from overwhelming anxiety and confusion, followed soon after, the television a quiet hum in the background.

******

It had been a few days since Sal had gone missing, and there was still no sign of him. Q was frantic. He had hardly slept since dozing off in front of the TV that first night, and with the continuous unyielding waves of fear churning his stomach, it was a struggle to keep food down. He felt like he was being suffocated by his own terror that something truly awful had happened to his best friend, and he’d been lying awake at night, staring into the dark, tears running down his cheeks and barely able to breathe as the worst possible scenarios played through his mind. Joe and Murr obviously felt similarly, judging by the frequent texts he got, asking if there’d been any news. _Heard anything yet?_ Was the latest one he’d received off Murr. He’d felt so helpless as he’d tapped out a reply. _Nothing. Cop I talked to said she’d phone if anything turned up._ And although Joe’s texts seemed nonchalant - _our boy shown his face yet?_ \- Q knew him too well to take it at face value, and felt the other man’s anxiety in the increasing frequency of his messages.

The new cat, Eddie, had been constantly by his side. It was an easier job to keep him and the other cats separated since he refused to leave Q - it was as if he could sense his distress. He’d slept with him on his bed each night, and whenever Q found himself waking with a jolt from a nightmare about Sal, whenever he couldn't sleep for the fear that paralysed and choked him, Eddie was there, making anxious little mewing sounds and pushing his face against Q’s. Sometimes he felt like the cat was trying to tell him something - with his eyes, with some of the oddly indignant sounding meowing that he could keep up for ten minutes at a time - but Q rationalised that either he’d probably spent too much time around cats, or this particular one was just a little peculiar.

He talked to Eddie a lot - about Joe and Murr, about what he was doing - but more often than not the topic was Sal. Sometimes it was about the funny things he’d done, all the times he’d made him laugh, other times it was how much he missed him. And that morning, as he sat with the purring feline in his arms, waiting on a phone call he wasn't even sure he wanted, he was trying to convince himself that his friend would be alright. “Maybe he’ll just… turn up? The guy’s a grown ass man, he can look after himself.” Eddie looked up at him, green eyes wide, and made a chirping noise. “You agree, huh, sweetie? Yeah, ya know what? He’s the bravest guy I know. Braver than me by fuckin’ _miles_. We all do some crazy shit, but he does it all on top of all that anxiety, all that _stuff_ that goes on in his head. Fuckin’ amazing.” He shook his head, thinking about all the times Sal had freaked out about having to do something for the show, and how he’d done it anyway, almost every time.

He ran his fingers absently through Eddie’s fur, which the cat seemed to enjoy immensely, and spoke again. Now he’d started saying it, he couldn't stop. “I… I really admire him, Eddie. He - he brings out the best in me, makes me wanna be a better person.” The cat stared at him as he talked, and weirdly, appeared to be listening intently. Regret started colouring Q’s voice. “I’ve never told him any of this, and I’m startin’ to think maybe I should’ve. Other stuff too, like how much I… I…”

He couldn't bring himself to say it, even to a cat. He’d never said it aloud before, and to do it now would only make it hurt worse in the long run. Abruptly he decided he had to get out of the house, and moving Eddie, who had started meowing at him again, he stood up and sent a text to Joe and Murr.

_To: Joe, Murray_

_From: Quinn_

_Can't stay inside any more. Let’s get lunch._

Their replies came back quickly, and they arranged a time and a place. Ten minutes later, Q was driving.

******

“Hey.”

“Hey, man. How’re you doing?” Murr was the first to greet Q, pulling him into a hug.

Q took an odd comfort from it, the feeling perhaps remaining from the years of being best friends with him through high school. “Uh. Y’know.” He shrugged lamely, unable to get his feelings across without just losing his shit completely and screaming until his throat was raw.

They all knew and understood each other well enough to get how Q was really feeling, though. They were all feeling it. Joe stepped forward and gave him a brief hug, and typically for the man, the first thing out of his mouth was an attempt to lift the fragile mood. “Hey, Quinn. So I guess Sally boy’s takin’ any opportunity to miss important meetings now, huh?”

Q couldn't help letting out a tired little laugh. He appreciated Joe trying to make them all feel better about what was going on. They took a seat, and he spoke up. “So... I kinda had to bring someone with me today…” Not waiting for Murr or Joe to ask who, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a very affronted looking Eddie. “Uhh. He’s kinda scared of the others, and they need the run of the house, so...”

“You rescued _another_ cat?” Murr leaned back and raised his eyebrows. “Where’d you find this one?”

Joe offered Eddie his hand, and the cat rubbed his head against it, purring. “He’s cute. Hey, bud! What's your name?”

Q smiled at Eddie, who looked like he was enjoying himself. “This’ll sound really fuckin’ weird, but I found him in Sal’s bedroom when I went to look for him.”

Murr went to stroke Eddie, and received a disdainful stare. “He doesn't like me very much.” He looked across the table at Q. “Are you sure he _isn’t_ Sal?”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause we’re livin’ in a parallel world where people turn into animals on the regular.” Q rolled his eyes and focused on Eddie, who had started meowing again, catching a few odd looks from the other people in the diner. Q shushed him. “Hey, no. You’re kinda not supposed to be in here, bud, so you need to be quiet, unless you wanna go back in the bag.”

The cat fell silent, but not without a _very_ dirty look aimed at Q, who thought with some amusement that he’d never come across any animal quite like this one. Joe obviously felt the same. “You’ve really picked up an unusual one this time, pal.”

“Yeah, he’s… a bit weird. I like him, though. He’s a little sweetheart, aren't ya, honey?” Q scratched Eddie behind the ears, smiling fondly, and was rewarded with loud purring. Then the little ball of fluff dropped into Q’s lap, curled up and went to sleep.

Q looked up from the content feline to see Joe and Murr staring at him. He suddenly felt a little defensive. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Joe replied.

“We know how you feel about Sal.” Murr blurted out at the same time. Joe elbowed him.

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean? I feel the same as you guys. He’s my best friend, and I miss him, and I’m worried about him. What’s there to _know_?” Q was rambling, he knew, but he wasn't ready for this conversation. He didn't think he’d ever be.

Joe sighed and levelled a glare at Murr. “You know what he means, Quinn. It’s really fuckin’ obvious to anyone with eyes.”

When Q didn't say anything, knowing from years of experience of having to live with himself that it was already written all over his face, Murr interjected, his tone soft. “Look - we’re just worried about you, buddy. We’re all afraid for him, but it’s hit you hardest, and we’re here for you.”

Q was saved from replying at that point by their food arriving. They took a few moments to sort everything out, and he tried to formulate a response in his head. Nothing was coming. “Uh. I don't…” He focused on his cat, whose breathing was deep, even and calming, and tried again. “Look, I appreciate the concern. I do. But…” The denial was right there, on his lips, but he couldn't say it. One more protest would break him - and what was the point in lying? Sal wasn't even there to judge him. He sighed. “Okay. Fuck. You’re right. I do… feel that way about him.” Even while he was admitting it, he couldn't say _those_ words.

“Why didn't ya tell him before?” Joe asked through a mouthful of food.

Q would have thought that was obvious. “He doesn't feel the same way.” He said it quickly, casually, so it didn't hurt as much.

Murr threw his hands in the air. “You idiot! Of _course_ he does! Haven't you seen the way the guy looks at you?”

“Murray’s right. The boy’s crazy aboutcha.”

“What have you two been fuckin’ smoking? He looks at everyone like that. He’s like... the _king_ of heart eyes.” Q was totally baffled that they could be so far wrong in what they were seeing.

Murr rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine.” Then, before Q could demand an explanation for that response, he changed the subject. “So. I know we’re on vacation time, and we’re a man down, but I’ve got some ideas about the next season I wanna run past you.”

He proceeded to launch into a list of new challenge ideas for the show, which inevitably turned into a brainstorming session for new jokes and bits. Q participated, coming up with a good portion of it, and laughing at the others’ ideas - but he felt so strange doing this without Sal. The group felt lopsided and empty without his best friend’s warm presence beside him, that familiar infectious laugh ringing in his ears. He felt guilty, too, for actually enjoying himself, like he was betraying his missing friend in some way. It was stupid, really - it wasn't like they’d never met up and had fun without Sal before. But this was different somehow.

The conversation moved on, and on again, and Q became absorbed in a slightly heated discussion of the finer points of whether the network would allow a certain challenge to be done. It wasn’t until Joe glanced at his watch and exclaimed that he had to get back home that Q realised it had been the longest he’d gone without thinking about Sal since the man had gone missing. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Part of him felt so much fucking shame - he should have been worrying, he _should_ , what kind of friend wouldn’t worry? But another part was slightly relieved to have a respite from the thoughts and fears that had been plaguing him almost nonstop. That made him feel even worse. He stood up as the other two did, waking a sleepy Eddie as he did. “C’mon, bud,” he said to the disgruntled cat, “you gotta get back in the bag.”

They walked out, and after saying goodbye to Joe, who drove off yelling “bye, bitches!” out of his open window, Q and Murr stood in the parking lot for a while longer, watching him go.

Murr turned to Q and looked at him steadily for a second. He looked uncharacteristically concerned, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle and placating. He squeezed Q’s forearm. “Listen, bud… I said it earlier and I’m saying it again now, because I need you to know that I mean it. If you need to talk, no matter what time, don’t hesitate to call, okay?”

Q felt a huge surge of affection and gratitude for the man standing in front of him. Murr took a lot of shit from them all, mostly good-natured, and he had his annoying moments - but he was supportive, and loyal, and he would do anything to see his best friends happy. “Thanks, Murray. I’ll call if I need ya, bud.” They hugged, and then Eddie popped his head out of the bag and meowed at them. Q laughed. “I guess that’s my cue.” Waving goodbye, he headed to his car, feeling inexplicably a little lighter. He didn't know where his best friend was, and he was worried sick - but at least he knew he wasn't alone in that.

******

That evening found Q slumped back on his sofa again, Eddie in his lap and an empty glass in his hand. Almost as soon as he’d returned home, he’d started thinking on what Joe and Murr had said about his feelings for Sal, and Sal’s apparent feelings for him. Half an hour of the same confusing questions chasing each other round his head, and he’d decided he didn't want to be sober any more. The last refill had been his fifth, and he could say with some certainty that he was definitely more than a little drunk.

He sighed, rubbing his fingers gently through Eddie’s fur. “What a mess it all is, huh, sweetie?”

The cat lifted his head to look at Q, gave a disdainful sounding sniff, then turned around to face away. Q had the distinct impression that Eddie _disapproved_ somehow of him drinking alone. “Fine, be that way. Fuck. S’like havin’ Sal around twenty-four seven. Miss him, though. He keeps me sane.” He thought for a moment, frowning. Everything felt all slow and fuzzy. “I fuckin’... I _love_ that guy. Fuckin’ head over heels, y’know? I… I don't think I could ever love anyone else like I love Sal.”

Saying it out loud, finally admitting it, had the double effect of making him feel like a great big weight had just been lifted off his chest, and at the same time making it feel frighteningly real. Eddie abruptly uncurled himself, arching his back in a stretch. He started meowing softly, climbing his way up Q’s chest and rubbing his face against his cheek. Q laughed, then from somewhere in the back of his mind came Murr’s throwaway words in the diner earlier that day: _are you sure he_ isn’t _Sal?_

“No, don't be stupid. S’not him, it’s just a cat…” he mumbled, more to himself than the cat or the Murr-voice in his head. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. And the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. All those weird little mannerisms, the way he followed Q around and stayed with him when he was upset, the fact he was _terrified_ of the other cats… but maybe it was just the drink, and a good helping of wishful thinking that was saying all this. He sat up a little, and gathered Eddie - a little clumsily - into his arms. Eddie just stared up at him for a moment, his eyes big and round and green, and then he lifted a paw and batted Q gently on the nose. That was the last straw - he had to ask. Even with the alcohol in his system, he felt stupid for what he was about to do, but it was like an itch he had to scratch. When he spoke, it was in a hoarse whisper. “Are you… is - is it you in there, Sally?”

Eddie started meowing loudly, and wriggled his way out of Q’s arms, jumping onto the floor with only slightly more grace than he had the first time, running around in circles on the floor. It could only mean one thing, and Q felt like he’d been hit by a steamroller. “What. The. _Fuck_? It’s… it’s really you.” He started laughing, and couldn’t stop. Eventually, it started to border on hysterical. When it finally subsided, he stood up. Wincing at the sudden vertigo, he picked Eddie - or Sal - up, and gingerly made his way to the bedroom, then stripped down and got into bed, the cat lying at his side, watching him. “Fuckin’ unreal, man. The fuck happened? How’re we gonna get you back?” Q couldn’t wrap his head around it. Sal was a cat, and he wasn’t missing, and he was a fucking _cat_.

He suddenly felt totally wiped. “I… I need to sleep, bud. Gonna hafta talk about this in the mornin’.”

The cat began to purr, a soothing white noise that soon had Q, drained and drunk and exhausted, drifting off into a deep sleep.

******

Q came to consciousness slowly, feeling groggy and sluggish. He didn't feel brave enough to open his eyes yet, so he kept them shut, trying to recall all of the hazy details of the night before. The only thing he remembered was Eddie, and his weird behaviour, and his own stupid bourbon-induced conclusion that the cat was somehow Sal. Sighing, he turned onto his side. _What a fucking night._ He felt like such a dick for getting so convinced of something so ridiculous - anyone would think he was a _kid_ , his imagination running away with him like that. It was all wishful thinking, because Sal was still missing, and they still had no idea what had happened to him. He wanted to pull the covers right over his head and block everything out until he felt like he could face the world. Which felt like never, right then. But Sal wouldn’t want him to do that - he’d want him to get up, and carry on like normal, not give in and just let himself spiral into depression. So, slowly and reluctantly, he opened his eyes. It took a moment for everything to come into focus, for his slightly hungover brain to register his surroundings, and when it did - Q’s heart stopped working. His lungs stopped working. _Everything_ stopped working.

Lying fast asleep on top of the covers - _stark fucking naked_ \- was Sal.

“...Holy… _fuck_.” Q breathed. He had no idea what to do. He’d totally convinced himself that what happened last night was some kind of alcohol-fuelled fever dream, but… there he was, right there. He was facing Q, and his breathing was deep, measured. He was curled up and in on himself, as if his body still remembered his recent experience. He was frowning in his sleep. _What’re you dreaming about, bud?_

Q needed to know if his friend was real, or if his mind was just fucking with him. Tentatively, he reached out, and before he even touched him, he could feel real, human warmth coming off the man. Then he gently placed just one finger on Sal’s bicep, his heart pounding when he didn’t wake up or the other guy didn’t disappear.

Then Sal stirred. His eyes fluttered, then opened completely, and he stared at Q for a moment with a puzzled expression. “Wha…?” his voice was rough. With that one word, realisation and shock suddenly dawned on his face. “Q? I… I’m _back_?”

Q didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, with a speed that surprised him and made Sal jump, he manoeuvred his way out of the covers, and launched himself at his best friend, wrapping him in his arms and squeezing him tightly, heedless of the fact that they were both pretty much nude. He didn’t care about anything except Sal was here and real and _okay_. Tears coming to his eyes, he felt an ache in his constricting throat, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. When he spoke, it was more sobbing than words, his speech almost lost in the crook of Sal’s neck. “ _Sal_ … I thought - I can’t believe… I’m _so fuckin’ glad_ you’re okay, buddy. I...” He fell quiet, lost for words. There was so much more he wanted to say, so many more words he needed to get out, but it was all lost in the turmoil in his head, the churning mass of relief and love and gratitude and confusion.

Suddenly he noticed that the other man was stiff, silent, and totally unresponsive in his arms. It raised red flags in his head, and he was proved right a moment later when Sal started to shiver violently, his breathing out of control. _Fuck._ “It’s okay, Sally. I’ve got you, honey. You’re safe.” He moved back a little to give Sal some room, and kept hold of his friend’s hands, stroking them gently and rhythmically with his thumbs. He kept on murmuring the same words over and over, hoping to keep Sal grounded. After about five minutes, it became obvious it wasn’t working, and Q realised he was going to have to pull out a last resort - something he’d picked up online while he was researching how to help Sal with his panic attacks. “I’m gonna try somethin’, okay, buddy?”

Sal nodded mutely at him, his eyes wide and frightened. Q pulled them both under the covers, and then pulled the other guy flush against him, so their chests were pressed together. He could feel a rapid, thumping heartbeat against his own, and started rubbing gentle circles on Sal’s back. “Now focus on me, buddy. Can you feel my heartbeat?”

Sal’s voice was a small whisper. “Y-yeah.”

“Good, that’s good. Focus on that. On my breathing too, ‘kay?”

“Okay.”

For a while they lay in silence as Sal regulated his breathing to match Q’s, and slowly but surely, his heartbeat slowed down as well. Eventually it seemed like it had passed for the time being, and Q shuffled backwards a little to look at him. “You alright now, bud?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you. Fuck, what an _idiot_ … I’m sorry.” Sal still sounded a little shaky, a little hoarse, but much calmer.

Q wanted to laugh. Even in the middle of some horrible fucking trauma, the guy still needed to apologise. “Dude, don’t say sorry. You just spent, like, a week as a _cat_ \- I think you’re entitled to freak the fuck out.”

“I guess so.” Sal’s face crumpled slightly, and he grabbed Q’s hand. “I… I was so _scared_ , Bri. I went to sleep as me, and then I woke up and I _wasn’t_ me any more. And I was alone for so _long_ …”

Q’s heart constricted painfully, and he sat them both up, pulling Sal into a hug. “I know, sweetheart. I’m so fuckin’ sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. But you’re safe now, bud, I promise.” He fiercely promised himself that he would _never_ let Sal out of his sight for more than a day again.

They were quiet for a moment, and as the initial panic and emotion passed, and calm finally set in, both of them became aware of how little they were wearing. “Uhh…” Sal looked at Q briefly and then ducked his head, blushing. A small, shy smile graced his lips.

“Oh. Um. God, I’m sorry. Hold on, I have some spare pyjamas you left here somewhere…” Q got up and crossed the room to his drawers, trying to hide his own flaming cheeks. He rooted through them, pulled out a pair of Sal’s pyjamas - usually kept for impromptu sleepovers - and threw them to Sal on the bed. Then he quickly threw on a t-shirt and sweatpants, and turned away, pressing the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose. They’d all seen each other with nothing on before - God knew Murr and Joe pretty much took their clothes off for a living - but here and now, emotions were running high, and they’d never been so physically close, and it just felt so ... _intimate_.

A minute later, a soft voice came from behind him. “S’okay to look now.” Q turned round. Sal was sitting cross-legged on the bed, gazing at him. That shy smile was still there, a delicate blush still colouring his cheeks. His hair was soft, wavy, and tousled, and he’d never looked so endearing. He patted the space next to him. “Come sit back down.”

Nerves making his stomach flutter and his breath come a little faster, Q walked back over and joined his best friend. They stared at each other for a moment, Sal looking as though he was on the verge of saying something, before Q cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh… so, how you feelin’ now, bud?”

“Much better, thanks.” Sal reached over and took Q’s hand, entwining their fingers together. “Look… I gotta thank you, man. You came lookin’ for me, you took me in when you didn't even realise who I was and kept me even when it meant that you had to prioritise me over your oth- your cats. That meant _so goddamn much_ to me. And I… fuck, I saw how upset you were that you thought I was missin’. I tried _so_ hard to tell you I was right there beside you, but in the end all I could do was try and be there for you. I’m sorry, Brian.”

Q sighed. “You idiot. Of _course_ I took you in. Of course I looked after you. You were so weak and vulnerable, and I… there was somethin’ so _familiar_ about you.” He smiled and squeezed Sal’s hand. “And how many times do I hafta tell ya not to apologise? I shoulda known you were there all along, gettin’ me through this week… just like you’ve always done.”

There was a moment of stillness as they gazed at each other, all their words, spoken and unspoken, hanging in the air between them. Then - and Q had no idea who moved first - they wrapped their arms around each other, both of them kneeling on the bed, clinging on for dear life, as if this would be the last they ever saw of each other. Q buried his face into the top of Sal’s head, taking in that familiar, reassuring fragrance that he’d thought he’d never be able to experience again. This was contentment and safety and _home._ He felt himself choking up again. “I - I’m so fucking happy you’re alive, buddy…” he managed, dizzy with emotion.

Sal, his face hidden in Q’s chest, fists grabbing at his t-shirt, started crying too. “Y-you saved me, Bri… if-if you hadn’t come for me, I mighta… I…” He trailed off. Lifting his head, he looked up at Q - who thought that even with red eyes and tears streaking his face, he was the most beautiful person in the world - through long, wet eyelashes. “Q… d’you remember?”

“Remember what?” Q was thrown by the sudden subject change.

Sal bit his lip. “Uhh, last night… you told me somethin’, but you didn’t realise it was me. You - you said, um…”

He seemed at a loss for words. Q squinted, trying to recall what stupid shit his drunken ass might have said. Then it came back to him. “Oh. _Oh._ Fuck. I… so, you heard that. Oh God.”

He made to move away from Sal, to start damage control before friendships started getting ruined, but Sal grabbed his wrist. “No, don’t go! I need to know… did you mean it? Or… or was it just the alcohol?”

There was a fragile vulnerability in Sal’s face, made up of fear and hope, and something, Q realised with shock, that looked a little bit like love. _The boy’s crazy aboutcha_ , Joe had said. Was it true? He swallowed dryly, feeling like he was about to dive into deep, cold waters. “I… I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“R-really?”

“My _God_ , yes. You’re so damn important to me, Sal. After all these years, how could I _not_ love you? How could I not fuckin’ be _nuts_ about you?” Q shook his head. He couldn’t think of words strong enough to express it all.

Sal’s eyes grew bigger and rounder, the trepidation in his expression turning to relief and joy. He laughed. “You took the words outta my mouth, bud.”

It had been worth the days of worry and uncertainty, worth the whole awful shitty week, just to see _this_ , just to be able to bask in the knowledge that his best friend really did feel the same way. That his best friend thought _he_ was worthy of love. Q reached across and cupped Sal’s cheek gently, thumb swiping his jawline. He wanted to savour this moment forever, wanted to do it _right_. He leaned in a little, and then paused, relishing Sal’s expression - a sweet little breathless half-smile, green eyes dark with emotion, and anticipation written all over his face. “You’re fucking _gorgeous_ , y’know that?” he breathed.

Sal blushed and glanced away, then back again, looking awkward and uncertain. “Uhh… thank you.” Then he took Q’s shoulders. “Now fuckin’ kiss me, you idiot. I’ve waited way too long for this.”

Q happily obliged. Wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist, he leaned in again, and this time he didn’t stop. The kiss was the best he’d ever had - aside from the fact that Sal kissed like a fucking _expert_ , seeming to know exactly what he needed and wanted, it also felt _right_ in a way that he just couldn’t put his finger on. For a long while he lost himself to the moment, to every nuance, every light nip and teasing suck on a bottom lip, every little sigh coming from Sal, each intimate breath that passed between them. The world narrowed down to just the two of them, and at some point they found themselves lying on their sides. It felt as though they were making up for years of lost time, and putting every single second of it into this one kiss. Q could say with confidence that this was the happiest moment of his life.

After God knew how long, Sal finally broke the kiss, breathing hard. He laughed breathlessly at Q’s sulky pout. “Bud, we - we gotta stop, or else shit’s gonna get kinda heavy.” He blushed. “I… I’m not up for that yet.”

Q tilted his head up and planted a gentle kiss on Sal’s forehead. “Hey, that’s okay. This is enough. Shit, I mean... this is so much more than I _ever_ expected.”

He rolled onto his back, and Sal snuggled up to him, resting his head on his chest. “Me too. I guess we should be glad I got turned into a goddamn cat, huh?”

“Just don’t do it again, man.” Q ran his fingers through Sal’s hair, loving how soft it felt, how Sal sighed in response. How he could do it any time he wanted now.

Sal laughed. “I’ll try. _God_ , that feels nice.” He craned his neck to look up at Q, smiling. “I love you.”

Q hoped with everything he had that he would always feel like this whenever he heard those words from his best friend - breathless and dizzy, and near delirious from joy. “I love you too, bud.”

******

_To: Joe, Murray_

_From: Quinn_

_Guys, Sal’s safe. He’s with me and he’s fine._

_To: Quinn_

_From: Joe_

_Where’s he been? Fuckin Mexico?_

_To: Quinn_

_From: Murr_

_What? What happened to him? Why did he disappear? He’s okay right?_

_To: Joe, Murray_

_From: Quinn_

_Long story. Gonna sound fucking crazy. We'll explain over coffee. This afternoon?_

_To Joey, Murr_

_From: Sal_

_I was the goddamn cat._

 


End file.
